


Unlikely Alliances

by eponinethenardiers



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Domestic Violence, F/M, Graceland AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-02
Updated: 2013-05-15
Packaged: 2017-12-10 05:07:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/782145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eponinethenardiers/pseuds/eponinethenardiers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Graceland AU. Enjolras is an FBI Agent living at the Graceland house, trying to track down the Patron-Minette. His plan is changed when he meets the daughter of their leader instead, Éponine, and they begin to work together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Unexpected

“You sure you’re gonna be okay, Apollo?” Courfeyrac asked him through the ear piece once more, voice muffled by the muffin bites obviously tucked in his cheek. Enjolras groaned at the nickname- Grantaire had said it _one time_ , and now everyone in the group called him that. So much for their respected and honoured leader.

“Yes, I’m sure. I told you, I’m doing this bust alone. It’s too dangerous for any of you,” he repeated, talking quietly so he didn’t appear to be arguing with thin air. The beach was crowded at this time, but there was just enough emptiness that he would be noticed jabbering away at himself. The 9 am crowd: when the athletes were out with their protein shakes, the stoners were still sleeping, and the tourists were just starting to seep onto the sand.

“Just take care of yourself, Enj. We wouldn’t you bloodied and bandaged for the new guy coming in.”

_I knew I was forgetting something_ , he thought as he fought the urge to smack himself.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll be there. Just leave me alone and let me get this done, will you?”

“I’ll get him to shut up,” came Combeferre’s gentle tone after several seconds of silence, accompanied by the muffled protests of Courfeyrac in the distance.

“Okay, I’m getting closer to the house,” Enjolras muttered. “I’m going off now, just listen.”

His hand lingered on the grip of his gun, hidden beneath his hoodie. There were two ways this could go: he could be able to successfully find a way into the operation, making them believe he’s just another junkie willing to make a buy, or he could end up in a shootout with a gang that outnumbers him five-to-one when they realise immediately that he’s a cop. It could just as easily go one way or another.

The rusted warehouse door was just slightly ajar as he creeped closer to it, catching him by surprise. The Patron-Minette are serious criminals, and well-practiced. Serious and well-practiced criminals don’t just leave doors open.

His grip tightened around his gun, preparing to draw it at a minute’s notice. Slowly, he pressed his palm against the cool, rusted steel of the door, pushing it open as gently as he could. The hinges groaned in response to his touch, flecks of rust falling onto his hair. The dark warehouse lay before him, completely black but for the light streaming in from around him like a halo. There was absolute quiet as his eyes adjusted, the air heavy with the weight of the silence.

There were two scenarios Enjolras had been expecting, that everyone had been expecting, and they were sure. There was no doubt in his mind that when he opened those doors, he would find the Patron-Minette, playing poker or making a deal, their usual antics, and he would be able to slide his way into their establishment, or things would go downhill fast. He knew he would find five hardened criminal masterminds: Montparnasse, Clasqueous, Babet, Geuelemer, and the man himself, Thénardier. He knew exactly what to expect, he had it all planned out.

What he didn’t expect was to meet the eyes of a shivering girl in rags staring back at him.


	2. Introductions

He whipped his gun out from where it rested on his hip, aiming it straight at the girl. Her eyes didn't flinch from his, bearing into him with an unsettling strength.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"I'm not the one you want," she sighed, beginning to pace lightly in wide circles around him. Her feet moved delicately, soundlessly, barely dusting the floor before rising again. It was the walk of a ghost. "I'm afraid they left long before you arrived."

"Who.  _Are_. You." he repeated, patience declining. Finally she turned to face him, a light smirk playing at her lips.

"I'm the girl," she stated as if it were such an obvious explanation. "Didn't they tell you about me?"

"Oh, they _didn't_ ," she realised as she looked at his confused expression. A small bark of laughter escaped her. "Man, your friends really sent you in blind, didn't they? They know all about me. I may be good, but even I've been caught enough to have a solid record behind me."

"I don't know what you're talking about," he admitted, keeping the gun trained on her.

"My my, you really are unprepared, aren't you?" she laughed, resuming her dance around him. "You want my father, right? Seeing as I'm the gang-member-in-training to most people, they tend to think I'm important. Has my status been lowered?"

"Give me one reason why I shouldn't arrest you right now," Enjolras threatened, his mind buzzing with the flood of new information she had provided. Father? Thénardier had a  _daughter_? Why had no one told him this?

"Because," she sighed, stopping her soft steps to face him again. "I may be the only person who hates my father as much as you do. I have no interest in hurting you or anyone else."

"Why should I believe you?" he pressed, but his finger lightened on the trigger. The girl sighed heavily, rolling her eyes at him as she tugged up her shirt to just below her breasts, revealing her torso to him.

The entire right side of her ribs were mottled with bruises of every colour; green, purple, yellow, and black blotches roughly smeared against her skin, like some grotesque finger painting. Thick white scars marred her in intricate overlapping patterns, accompanied by several fresher, bright red ones clearly more recently inflicted. Bones jutted out against her translucent skin, her hipbones digging out of her like knives. The sight of it made colour drain from Enjolras's face and his stomach churn.

"Don't think I have enough reason to want out?" she asked blankly, unfazed by her revelation. "Because this isn't even the main reason I'm doing this. I'm willing to work with the FBI or whoever you're working for, in exchange for my immunity. Or anything, really, I just really want to see my father shut in a cell for good this time."

Enjolras processed her words, still staring at her now-covered stomach. He had seen a lot of things, but something about how casually the girl showed the evidence of her abuse made bile rise in his throat. Slowly, he lowered his weapon, but kept firmly in his hand. 

"I need evidence that you're unarmed," he told her, gesturing for her to raise her hands above her head. Ignoring him, she pulled a knife from her back and let it clatter to the floor.

"That was all I got," she promised, but she finally raised her arms. "I mean, I'm wearing shorts and flip-flops, you should be pretty satisfied that I can't be hiding anything, but be my guest."

Tentatively, Enjolras made is way toward her, one hand still holding his gun against him. He didn't bother with the full pat-down, satisfied by a quick glance around her; she had a point, there was no where to hide anything with her light clothing. He didn't admit to himself that he was somewhat afraid that she would shatter under his touch.

"I'll extend you some trust," he offered, stepping away from her. "But don't think you've gotten a full allowance yet. I need you to come with me."

The girl smirked at him, extending a hand out to him. He grabbed her wrist, contemplating whether or not to handcuff her. He tried not to be bothered by the way she kept staring at him, eyes burning mocking holes into the side of his head.

"They call me Éponine."


	3. Decisions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys decide Eponine’s fate with them, and Combeferre gives Enjolras a reality check.

“So, what’s the verdict?” Courfeyrac asked as he swept into the room, glancing between the men huddled in a makeshift circle. Éponine was alone in the interrogation room, after spending half an hour talking to Courfeyrac.

“I trust her,” Bahorel shrugged. “Everything she’s saying checks out.”

“She’s also a junkie,” Joly pointed out. “We don’t know how trustworthy that makes her. Her promises could easily fall through when she goes into withdrawl.”

“Who says she has to go into withdrawl?” Grantaire added, suddenly standing from his chair to join the circle. “We don’t need to make her an honest citizen, we just need her help. What she does on her own time is none of our business.”

“Actually, it is,” Enjolras argued through gritted teeth, eyes darting up to the rest of them for the first time. “Abuse of illegal substances is, surprisingly,  _illegal_.”

Combeferre sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers as he thought. “Do we think she can stay sober for as long as we need her?”

“We’re gonna need her for a while,” Courfeyrac admitted. “She can’t tell us just where her father is, only aid us. The girl’s smart though, she could be a real help, and she’s willing to testify in court.”

“We can’t just abandon her,” Feuilly reasoned. “Her father will know she came here, she risked everything to come to us. The least we can do is protect her.”

“The testimony of a drug addict means nothing,” Joly sighed. “It’ll be the defense’s golden ticket.”

“Enjolras,” Combeferre suddenly addressed him as he raised his head. “You’ve been surprisingly quiet. You’re the one who found her, what do you say?”

Enjolras looked around at his friends, contemplating his thoughts from an unusual position against the wall. For once in his life, he was unsure.

“I say we keep her,” he sighed, keeping his eyes locked with Combeferre’s. Combeferre gave him a short nod in return.

“I say we keep her too.”

“And me.” 

“And me.” 

“Me too.”

“Yeah, whatever.” 

“I’m in.”

“Got my vote.”

“I say no, but that doesn’t matter now does it?”

“So we’ve decided,” Combeferre stated, ignoring Joly. “I’ll get the paperwork.”

As the group dispersed, Enjolras glanced through the glass at the girl lazily drawing circles on the table. After a moment, her eyes flicked up to his, her usual smirk lounging on her lips.

_She can’t see you,_ he reminded himself as she held perfect eye contact.  _She just sees a mirror, this is a coincidence._

The side of her mouth twitched as if she was trying to stop herself from smiling, a sadistic gleam flashing across her eyes. Enjolras shuffled where he stood before ducking out of the room, trying to shake the feeling that she was still watching every move he made.

* * *

 

Enjolras had buried himself in reports by the time Combeferre knocked on his doorframe, lounging in the doorway.

“You’re being uncharacteristically quiet today,” he observed. “Anything you want to tell me?”

“I’m fine,” Enjolras answered robotically, not lifting his head from the sea of papers before him. “Although, I must admit, I’m a little confused as to why no one thought it might be necessary to tell me that Thénardier has a daughter.”

“We didn’t think Éponine was going to be relevant,” Combeferre sighed. “She has no loyalty to her father, she just does what he says to survive. We figured if you ended up establishing a long-term relationship with the Patron-Minette, you’d end up knowing the children as well. There was no reason for earlier preparation.

“Besides,” he added, biting his lip in hesitation. “You do tend to overlook the personal details. This isn’t entirely our fault.”

“What do you mean?” Enjolras asked, confusion and anger stirring in his words.

“You did neglect to even try and find out any more beyond the basics, Enjolras,” Combeferre sighed. “It’s just what you do. You plan everything out, have brilliant ideas and structures, but you’ve never been good with people. You never understand how they’ll react, or how they feel. You never realise the human aspect to operations. It isn’t our fault that once more, you didn’t bother to check on Thénardier’s life beyond his prison sentences.”

Enjolras tried to splutter a response, shocked at his friend’s honesty. “I don’t see how this is my fault, Éponine is a major part of this puzzle—”

“She’s not a puzzle piece, Enjolras, she’s a person. I can’t handle your personal relations with everyone forever. She’s assisting  _your_  case, she’s  _your_  responsibility, and you need to man up and figure out how to talk to her like a human.”

Combeferre didn’t wait for a reply before exiting the room, leaving Enjolras to mull over his lecture. Combeferre’s words resounded in his head, echoing louder and louder with every passing moment. The echoes began to tie together, twisting and curving into a portrait of a girl.

_She’s not a puzzle piece._

Olive skin that was calloused and rough, bearing a yellow tint of poverty.

_She’s your responsibility_

Cloudy grey eyes that bore into his with an intimidating brashness.

_Man up and figure out how to talk to her like a human._

Inky black hair that fell straight to her waist, tied back into a sloppy ponytail.

_You never realise the human aspect to operations._

Shell-pink lips, chapped and bleeding, contorted into a self-assured smirk even with a gun pointed between her eyes.

_She’s a person._


	4. Midnight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: Dream/flashbacks, abuse, domestic violence, beatings, drug withdrawal symptoms. Skip over everything in italics if you are likely to be triggered.
> 
> In which Eponine meets the new kid and starts to feel the withdrawal kicking in

_She flinched before the belt even struck, anticipating the hot flash running across her once more. The man paused when he saw her twitch, a sinister smile creeping along his lips._

_“Don’t touch the face, Gueulemer, the customers won’t like her with a scarred face,” her father instructed lazily, reclining in his chair. She could only glare at him, hatred excreting from her every pore._

_She crumpled as the leather slapped her shoulder, falling face-first onto the cement floor. Pain pounded through her, the sharp hit dulling to a constant throb drumming through her muscles. As she tried to push herself up, the steel toe of a boot kicked her swiftly in the stomach, forcing her to the ground once more._

_She could feel the sticky trail of blood as it oozed down her skin, crawling down the back of her neck. She bit down her lip hard to keep herself from whimpering; she would not cry, she would not groan, she would not scream. She would not give him the satisfaction._

_The belt curled around her ribs as it lashed against her once more, drawing a sharp gasp from her lips before she could stop herself._

_“You like that sweetheart?” Gueulemer sneered, causing bile to rise in her throat as he winked at her._

_“She’s off-limits, Gueul. She belongs to Montparnasse now,” he father warned, finally raising his eyes to the scene before him._

_“Then why you still whorin’ her out?”_

_“You pay for her, you can get her. Until then, I’m giving her to him.”_

_“I am not yours to give,” she gagged, her voice thick with blood. Guelemer’s boot held her down, shooting blinding flashes of pain through her as he put his weight on her broken ribs._

_“Shut up, Éponine,” her father barked, diverting her attention to her for only a moment before snapping back to Gueulemer. “You know the arrangement, Gueul. Don’t screw it up for me.”_

_He stood up from his chair purposefully, giving Gueulemer a curt nod before exiting the room. She knew what that nod ment._

_‘Finish it’_

_Gueulemer sneered down at her, making her shiver with disgust as he raised his arm high above his head, the belt curled menacingly around his fingers…_

Éponine bolted upright in her bed as her eyes flew open, heart hammering in her chest. She gripped her hair in her hands as she tried to slow her breathing, her ragged gasps the only sound in the darkness of the house. Before she could stop them, tears began streaming down her cheeks, the taste of salt dripping onto her tongue.

“It’s just a dream, ‘Ponine,” she whispered to herself, roughly wiping away her tears. “It’s only a dream.”

She flung the covers off herself and stumbled from the bed, clumsily making her way into the kitchen of the safe house. A thin sheen of sweat covered her skin, though she couldn’t stop herself from shivering. Her legs trembled beneath her, threatening to collapse as she clung to the table to keep herself steady, and her head drummed with pain with every breath.

The moonlight filled the room even with the curtains shut as tightly as possible, giving everything a silver glow. She didn’t know where she was. They wouldn’t tell her. They figured if she didn’t know the place, her father wouldn’t either, but you can’t trust a drug addict to keep a secret. They knew all her father would have to do would be offer her a hit, and she’d tell him everything. As the withdrawal was beginning to grip her, she wondered why she wasn’t rushing out to find him now. 

The track marks felt like tattoos against her skin, loud and obnoxious, calling to everyone as she walked. She saw the way one of the men had been looking at her, not daring to take his eyes off the marks as he spoke. They said he was a doctor. Maybe that was why he looked at her so pitifully; he knew what she was about to go through for them.

Her fingers shook as she took a mug from the cabinet, letting the ceramic slip from her hands and shatter against the linoleum tiles. The sound pierced her ears like a siren.

_You need help, Éponine,_  a voice in her head nagged. _You know withdrawal can be deadly._

Éponine ignored the voice, flopping into a chair as she tried to ignore her nausea. Her hand creeped towards the phone as if it were separate from her, aching to dial the button she knew she needed to.

_You can’t let them see you weak_ , she reminded herself as she snapped her hand back, cursing herself.

She had to prove that she could do this. She had to be able to be more than just some junkie nineteen-year-old street urchin. Half of the agents Enjolras worked with didn’t think she was worthwhile, and she knew it. She’s a risk, a loose cannon, but she also knew she was all they had.

Éponine tried to slowly raise herself from her chair, holding onto the table for support as the room spun around her. The safe house was small, but for her it was a mansion. The kitchen was little more than a wall of appliances, but it was stocked with food and up-to-date. The linoleum was polished, the floors hardwood and well-structured. The family room blended into the kitchen to make one just-bigger-than average room, outfitted with an old but plush sofa that Éponine could be swallowed by, the soft velveteen cover heavenly against her calloused skin. A small television set sat across, small, square, and basic, but it played the small pile of DVDs that had been left for her and kept her occupied. Combeferre had left her with stacks of books from his own personal library, which he left in piles nearly as tall as herself.

Éponine jumped as she heard the bushes outside rustle, adrenaline overriding her dizziness as she rushed to grab a pan to defend herself. She heard the rustling get closer, followed by a thud and the sound of ceramic breaking.

“Oh,  _shit_ ,” muttered the intruder from outside the door. She stepped tentatively towards the door, making her way down the narrow entrance hallway.  It wasn’t a voice that she recognised, and her faher’s men were marginally more competent than to be so loud, but that could hardly be a source of comfort for her.

She flung the door open at the same time he was reaching to push it pen, leaving him to fall down at her feet. Shock overcame instinct and she hesitated to hit, barely stopping the pan was slipping out of her grasp. The cold air rushing in made her pre-existing goosebumps multiply, her hair standing straight up on her neck. 

“I’m with the FBI!” the boy promised, fumbling to retrieve his badge. He eagerly shoved it up to her, terror in his eyes. “Please don’t hit me.”

She grabbed the badge from him, scrutinizing it for forgery. It  _seemed_  real.

“Prove it to me,” she demanded.

“What?”

“Prove that you’re FBI. Something that can’t be forged.”

The boy looked up at her frantically, racking his brain for information.

“I was told to parol the area,” he finally admitted, eyeing her nervously. “Enjolras and Combeferre, they said to keep an eye on you. But I saw that you were awake and then I saw you weren’t looking great, holding onto furniture to move and such, so I thought I’d just get closer and make sure you’re okay. They had said that if you aren’t okay, I should say…oh God, what was it, I can’t remember now, but I promise I’m FBI!”

Éponine bit her lip to hide her laughter at his look of pure terror, taking pity on the boy. As the adrenaline faded, nausea was creeping back in and she couldn’t stand to stay in the doorway like this. She grabbed him by the collar and dragged him inside, shutting the door and half-collapsing against it.

“You’re very pale,” he observed as he pushed himself up. He grimaced after a moment, realising what he had said. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“It’s okay,” she assured him, a small smile curling around her lips. “I know. They tell you about me?”

“Well…yeah,” he admitted sheepishly, trying to gage her reaction.

“Then you know I ain’t gonna be pretty for a while,” she winked, using the wall to steady herself as she walked back to the kitchen, motioning for him to follow her.

“You really shouldn’t have let me in,” he said as they walked. “I mean, I’m glad you did, but seeing as I’m supposed to take care of you, I kinda have to criticise you for that.”

“No offense, but I know my father’s men, and you don’t quite make the cut,” she teased, fighting to keep the smile on her face as bile rose in her throat.  _Do not throw up in front of the cute boy do not throw up in front of the cute boy I swear to God Éponine you are so not throwing up in front of a cute boy._

He had the pride to be offended, a small frown replacing his nervous smile. He looked younger than he must have been, with his dark hair flopping into his green-grey eyes. It was only a few shades lighter than Éponine’s own ink-black locks, contrasting sharply against his pale skin and red lips.  _He kinda looks like Montparnasse_ , Éponine thought.  _Only…softer._

“So, why didn’t I meet you?” she asked him, racking her memory for a glimpse of him through all the boys Enjolras worked with. As hectic as the day had been, she would have remembered someone like him.

“I’m new, he explained. “Just got in today. They actually picked me up like an hour ago, assigned me my first job. Seven hours late to get me and they shove me with a parol immediately.”

Éponine tried not to be offended by the comment.

The phone rang before she could further the conversation, the shriek resonating in her ears. Talking to the boy had distracted her from her headache, but the high-pitched chime felt like a pickaxe in her skull.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, not bothering with formalities. The only people with the ability to call her were Les Amis.

“Where’s Marius?” Enjolras growled from the other end.

“Who?”

“Irritating kid with the bad haircut and freckles,” he sighed. “He was supposed to do a quick check up, and he’s still not back yet.”

“Relax, he’s here with me. He nearly killed himself trying to look in my window and I invited him in.”

“Are you serious, Éponine? All he was supposed to do was circle the block, not draw attention to yourselves or invite him in. I knew not to trust that kid with anything.”

“Hey, this  _kid_  isn’t any younger than you,” she argued, though in truth she had no idea how old either of them were. She turned to Marius and mouth ‘sorry’, her heart dropping when she noticed he was preparing to leave.

“Tell him I’ll be back in ten minutes,” he grumbled as he swung his coat around him. “Good night.”

“He’s on his way back,” she muttered half-heartedly, hanging up before Enjolras could say another word. Marius slipped out of her door without a sound, obviously being careful with his every step.

Éponine stumbled her way back to her bedroom after he left, laying on the impossibly soft bed and trying to will herself to sleep. Her head still pounded and her stomach churned menacingly with every breath, but her brain buzzed with just enough energy to stop her eyes from closing. She lay in her misery until dawn, sweat soaking through the thin cotton sheets.

The last words Enjolras had spoken to her when he dropped her off echoed in her ears, the image of him as he spoke burnt behind her eyes.

_“I’m trusting you, Éponine. Because you deserve to be trusted. Don’t make me regret it.”_


End file.
